


when we were young

by traceylane



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: AU, F/F, Thomas and Teresa are Twins, brendas an artist, just some childhood friends getting reunited and being gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traceylane/pseuds/traceylane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(#raretmrships week, (late) day 2 : a ship involving Teresa or Brenda)</p><p>-remember in highschool when you said you would marry me au-</p><p>brenda's a featured artist and teresa has something hilarious to show her</p>
            </blockquote>





	when we were young

“Hey,” she says as soon as she can hear someone on the other line. She speaks low into the receiver of the land line, absently twisting and pulling the cord through her long fingers. “Do you want to hear a story?”

 _“Oh, yeah,”_  he says.  _“Not like I’m in the middle of my shift or anything.”_

Thomas works at a diner across town, but from the distant sounds of sizzling and banging and even more distant sounds of evening traffic Teresa guesses he’s standing in the alley behind the kitchen, trying to stay warm while he’s on the phone.

“Then why’d you even pick up?”

_“Because you know I’m working and I thought you’d only call if there was some kind of emergency.”_

“And this  _is_  an emergency.”

_“I thought this was a story.”_

“It’s an  _urgent_  story,”

There’s a deep sigh, and Teresa smiles when he answers,  _“Okay. What’s the story?”_

“First—does the name Brenda ring a bell to you?”

_“Brenda? Um…”_

And Teresa knows that it  _does_  ring a bell, but she waits patiently for him to remember that for himself. Her brother could give her the six-hundredth digit of pi if she asked, but when it came to names he always drew a blank.

 _“Oh!”_  Teresa imagines a light bulb flickering on above his head,  _“Oh, yeah, I remember—she was one of your friends in high school, right?”_

“Right.”

“ _That scary girl, with the paintbrushes and the black clothes.”_

“She wasn’t scary!”

_“We remember her differently, then. But you guys hung out a lot.”_

Teresa tightens her grip on the phone cord without thinking, and her chest tightens in turn. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

_“So what about her?”_

“Hm?”

_“What about Brenda?”_

“Oh, I found—” She takes something out of her pocket, a piece of binder paper softened with age, college-ruled. She unfolds it delicately. “I found this thing when I was going through my closet, in one of my old jackets—I don’t know if you remember, but the big dark one with the weird buttons. Something that we wrote for each other, when we were like, seventeen.”

_“A thing?”_

“Like, a contract.”

Thomas laughs.  _“Only you, to be honest.”_

“Shut up.”

_“What does it say?”_

“It says—you’re not going to believe this, it’s—it’s stupid, but it says—” She clears her throat, looks down at the paper even though she’s memorized every scribble— “If, by the time we’re twenty-five, we are not in a relationship, we shall—and it actually  _says_  ‘shall’, it’s hilarious—we shall, um, get married.”

 

* * *

 

 

Her final word is clipped, and she’s met with a long silence.

“Thomas?”

_“…yeah?”_

She coughs. “Funny, right?”

He doesn’t sound so sure.  _“Is that—is that something that girls usually do? Is that like a thing? Marriage proposals?”_

“It wasn’t a  _proposal_ ,”

 _“No, you’re right, it was an_ advanced _proposal.”_

Teresa fumbles for some way to make him get the joke. “Well, that’s the story. We were—we were drunk at the time—”

_“You got drunk with Scary Brenda in high school?”_

“You should probably stop calling her that.”

_“You’re right, considering she’s my soon-to-be in-law.”_

“Okay, this isn’t going the way I wanted it to go, see, I wanted you to laugh  _with_  me, but now you’re laughing  _at_  me, and now I’m beginning to wonder if I should’ve strangled you in the womb when I had the chance…”

_“Reminder that I actually have a job, if you’re done.”_

“I’m not! Anyway, we got drunk, just a little bit—”

_“But even then you were a lightweight, right?”_

She ignores him, “—and obviously the topic of ‘fuck relationships’ comes up.”

_“As it does.”_

“As it does! And then—then I said, ‘We should just get married.’ …As you do.”

_“Not really.”_

Again, she ignores him, “And then she said I was right, and of course I get the bright idea to write it down, because that’s cute, right? And… we had a laugh and… I found it, I guess. And that… that’s the point of this story.”

Another pause.  _“That was a good one, Teresa. Thanks for calling. ‘Preciate it.”_

“Really, it was funnier when I first found it.”

_“And now you’re questioning everything you’ve ever known?”_

She tuts. “Will you stop?”

 _“Sorry, that’s what it sounds like,”_  Thomas says, a smile in his voice.  _“I’m right, though. You’re kind of making a big deal out of this.”_

It’s annoying, really, that he’s not just being mean, he’s telling the truth. Teresa had found the paper this morning, had hovered over her trashcan for what must have been about an hour before deciding not to toss it, had gone through the day unable to stop thinking about it, and then had spent most of her evening wondering  _why_  she was unable to stop thinking about it. It was only a matter of time before she had found herself calling Thomas.

So she says, again, “Shut up.”

_“So I’ll be hearing more about this later.”_

“Another reminder that you have a job.”

He scoffs.  _“Whatever. Good night, Teresa.”_

“Good night, Thomas.”

And they hang up.

\--

A couple of weeks later Thomas drops by with Chinese food.

“What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t move to let him in but he steps past her into her apartment, anyway. Asshole.

He rolls his eyes at her while he shrugs his jacket off, takes a seat on her couch and breaks a pair of chopsticks. “‘Hey, big brother! How nice of you to stop by, with food, no less!’”

“Really,” she says, shutting the door behind her, taking the cushion next to him and grabbing the carton of chicken he’s just opened for herself. “You could’ve at least called.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her, and he says with a full mouth, “So you know that funny story you told me kind of a while ago? With the marriage thing?”

Teresa freezes, her chopsticks poised halfway to her mouth. She almost wants to lie, say,  _No, I haven’t thought about it all, certainly not every day, no, it hasn’t been keeping me awake at night, not at all!_

“…Yeah, what about it?”

“I’ve got one for you, too.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah—first off, though, I can’t believe you got drunk in high school with Brenda Reyes.”

“As if you weren’t doing the same thing with your little pack.”

“We weren’t writing marriage contracts.”

“No, you were skipping right over  _that_  part.”

Thomas laughs. “Okay, listen— after you told me that, I went home and Minho and Newt—”

“Oh, God—you told them everything.”

“I did, obviously, but that’s not the best part—we did a bit of research, and it turns out there’s this art show happening downtown tomorrow night.”

Teresa swallows. “…So?”

He gives her a grin. “It’s kind of a coincidence, actually. Almost Hollywood—but guess who’s getting featured?”

“…Brenda Reyes.”

She jerks back when he snaps at her with his chopsticks. “Give the girl a prize!”

Teresa pokes at her rice. “…I’m not going.”

“See, I knew you were gonna say that, and so I’m guessing you know what I’m gonna say—Yes, you are.”

“Why should I?”

“To make her uphold the contract!”

“Thomas…”

“Theresa, how old are we?”

_“Thomas.”_

“Twenty-five and three months. And are you in a relationship?”

Teresa sighs. “No.”

“Well, then. There you go. I can help you pick a cake flavor. Newt knows a good florist.”

She hates, as always, the sound logic behind his ridiculous suggestions. “ _She_  could be in a relationship.”

“She’ll dump ‘em for you.”

“That’s sweet. And probably not true.”

He glances at her from the corner of his eye. “I have friends who can make it true.”

“Thomas, for God’s sake—”

He cuts her off, “Here—” and takes out his phone, pulls it open to the website of the organization holding the exhibition. “Look.” He scrolls down and stops on a couple of words in a big, black font. “There’s her name.”

Teresa holds the phone close to her face, and opens up to the page with piece descriptions—the first listing is Brenda’s.

“I didn’t even know she still painted,” she admits, a little breathlessly as she zooms in—dark lines, colors she’s seen before, but never like this.

“She got good.”

“She was already good,” Teresa says. “She just got better.”

She hands back Thomas’ phone. “I’m surprised she stayed here.”

Teresa and Thomas had returned to the city they grew up in after graduating—it was busy and huge and they loved it, but years ago Brenda had vowed to leave and never come back—among other promises.

“She didn’t. Apparently she’s just coming back for a few nights, to do this. Kind of a ‘thank you’ to her hometown, I guess. Or a ‘fuck you, I made it.’”

“Probably the latter.”

“Probably.”

And there’s a quiet moment when Thomas watches Teresa pick up a carton of food, shove a good amount of it into her mouth, and chew nervously.

“So you’re going?”

She swallows, and he’s surprised she doesn’t choke. “I… I mean…”

He tilts his head at her. “Honestly, it’s a rare moment when you’re more of a wuss than I am.”

“I’m not a wuss!”

“Prove it.”

He starts to clean up, putting the cartons, now mostly empty, back in their plastic bag, and heading to the kitchen to throw it out.

She’s still staring down at her carpet as he moves to leave. He does her the courtesy of opening the door himself, and says “Tell me how it goes,” before shutting it behind him.

\--

The art show starts at 7, but Teresa starts getting ready half an hour before five.

She’s redone her makeup quite a few times now. Too much blush, wrong shade of lipstick, uneven eyeliner because for some reason her hand keeps shaking.

She pulls out her mascara from a drawer and remembers the first tube she ever bought, with the same girl who taught her what “contouring” meant. She’s been using the same brand ever since—Brenda had sworn by it, and now she does, too.

Teresa wonders what else that girl has touched—what parts of her have seeped into Teresa’s daily life, undetected until now.

Before she leaves she takes one last look at herself in the mirror, the long oval close to the front door. She had tried on four different outfits before picking one she was satisfied with, but the longer she looks at it the less adequate she finds it, and she decides she’d better leave soon before she feels the need to change again.

Teresa has her hand on the knob, though, when she decides, one more thing.

She walks into her room, flicks the light on, and pulls out the thick, black jacket she had found in the back of her closet with the contract in its largest pocket.

She leaves while slipping it on, with that piece of paper bitten between her teeth.

\--

Teresa’s been staring at the same piece—the one from the website—for about twenty minutes now. It’s much bigger than it was on Thomas’ phone screen, and she keeps thinking she could understand what any of it was supposed to mean if she scanned every inch of it.

“What do you think?”

She jumps, and uncrosses her arms as she turns towards the voice.

“Oh—I—”

Familiar face. A beautiful, familiar face. Full cheeks, straight white teeth. Shorter hair, much shorter hair, and Teresa likes it.

Red lips.

“I—I was—”

Shining brown eyes widen, and Teresa doesn’t know whether to be happy or terrified that Brenda recognizes her, too.

“Teresa? Teresa Agnes!”

And suddenly there are arms around her, and a warm, flowery smell that’s different from the scent Brenda used to wear—not that Teresa remembers anything like that.

As soon as she was pulled close she’s pushed away, though Brenda still keeps her at arms’ length.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I’m Brenda, from high school? I didn’t ask if you remembered, sorry, this is probably… probably kind of strange.”

And she laughs—it’s a nervous laugh for her, but it makes Teresa’s heart beat a little faster, anyway. Everything moves a little faster, she remembers, when Brenda is around.

“No—no, of course I remember, I actually—that’s why I came, I heard you were in town—”

Brenda’s expression goes hard, and her eyes darken when she says. “So you don’t actually like the art?”

Teresa’s already blushing, but it gets worse as she flounders. “What? No—No, I like it, I do, I just—”

But Brenda puts a hand on her arm, says “I’m kidding. How did you hear?”

“My brother found out about it.”

Brenda tilts her head. “Thomas? Thomas.  _Your_  brother,  _Thomas_ … found out about the art show?”

Teresa smiles, noting that she has to tell Thomas that Brenda hadn’t really remembered him that favorably, either. “I know, it’s not his kind of thing, but he was looking around for—it’s a long story.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. It’s what I came here to tell you.” Teresa looks back up at the painting, frameless, wrapped canvas put up on a white wall. She doesn’t really want to leave it.

“Um—would it be totally out of the question to talk to you alone for a bit?”

Brenda raises an eyebrow, and then peers over her shoulders, like she’s watching for a tail. Thankfully the discerning eyes of the wealthy wine-sippers are diverted.

“Coast is clear. There’s a café across the street.”

\--

“—so that was the last time I was allowed in Home Depot.”

Teresa’s laugh fills her lungs, and she throws her head back as Brenda presses her lips to her mug, her story finished.

They serve coffee in ceramic cups here, and they blow their drinks cool at their small round table, sitting on tall stools.

“What is it?” Teresa says when she’s calmed down.

“Hm?”

“You’re staring at me.”

Teresa feels triumphant now that Brenda is the one with the pink cheeks, but it’s a false sense of victory, since she’s blushing, too.

“Nothing—it’s just, um,” Brenda gives her lips a quick bite, looks down at her hands on the table. “You’re wearing my jacket.”

Teresa frowns and opens it up halfway, looks down at the fabric. “Oh, this—this is yours?” Her fingers tighten on the cloth, and she doesn’t know whether to hug the jacket closer or take it off and hand it over.

“Yeah. It’s okay, though, fuck, God knows I don’t need it back now after all this time.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t know, I must’ve borrowed it, and I never gave it back, I’m—”

“No, I just never asked for it.” Brenda shrugs, and takes a sip of coffee, avoiding Teresa’s eyes. “I thought you looked good in it.”

“Oh.”

“That and—I don’t know, it’s been a while. I guess I kind of missed you.”

“Oh,” Teresa says again. It kind of echoes in her ears. “I missed you, too. I’m glad I came.”

There’s a silence. Not a bad one.

Brenda clears her throat finally, says “So you had a story to tell me?”

Teresa’s eyes widen as she remembers why she’s here.

She takes the contract out of her pocket, unfolds it and flattens it on the table with her palms before turning it so Brenda can see.

“I found this a while ago. I thought, y’know, good enough of an excuse to say hello, have a laugh.”

She smiles lightly, but as Brenda sees what the paper is, reads it once, twice, three times, her face falls, as does Brenda’s.

Teresa feels nervous all of a sudden. “It’s—it’s funny, right? It’s cute.”

“You think so?”

And for some reason, Brenda looks angry.

“…What? What’s wrong?”

“I just thought I was done with that, like, eight years ago.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I come back here after all this time, I see you again, and you’re making fun of me? That’s fucked up, Agnes.”

“What are you talking about?” Teresa asks again, but Brenda is stepping off of her stool, her shoes making a hard  _clack_  on the floor.

And then she rips the paper off of the table, holds it up in front of Teresa’s face. “This? This was a joke. A shitty one.”

“Brenda—” Teresa puts her hand on Brenda’s arm, and holds on when she tries to pull away. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t remember it that way. I thought it was—I thought it was just something we did—”

“You kept using this  _against me_ , Teresa. You kept treating it the same way you are now, you knew I liked you and you did shit like this and you laughed about it, you kept laughing about it, this isn’t—”

Teresa’s mind, whirring and whirring with confusion and panic, stops hard.

“What? What did you just say? Say that again.”

“I said you knew I liked you—”

“You—you liked… you liked me?”

Brenda narrows her eyes. “I… signed something promising to  _marry_  you. You… didn’t think…?”

“We were drunk!”

“We shared a beer! One!”

“I’m a lightweight!” Teresa moans, and Brenda rolls her eyes, lets out a scoffing laugh.

“No—really, I wouldn’t have—I wouldn’t have made a joke of it if I had known—I never wanted to—”

And Teresa stops again. Pauses. Takes a deep breath, holds on tighter to Brenda’s arm. She can feel the tendons strain where her nails are digging into the skin, but neither of them moves.

“I liked you, too.”

“What?”

“I didn’t want you to know. And, yeah, you’re right, this kind of gave me away so—so I wanted to make it look like it wasn’t a big deal to me. Even now I wanted to prove to you, I guess, that I was okay after we stopped hanging out.”

(She hadn’t been. She remembers the first week Brenda started avoiding her, and then the long month after that when she found out exactly how much a single person could cry before they ran out of tears. She’s glad she never told Thomas why no matter how long he sat outside her bedroom door demanding to know, otherwise he or Brenda would probably be dead right now.)

Brenda’s eyes are softer now.

“I thought you hated me,” Teresa continues, “And I didn’t know why. But now I do, and I’m sorry. I liked you, too.”

After a while, her hand falls from Brenda’s arm, but it’s caught by cold fingers.

“I guess we’re both dumbasses, then.”

Teresa looks at her hand in Brenda’s, and then peers up. “Hm?”

“You especially, though.”

“Excuse me?”

“So we’re not getting married, that’s for sure.”

“I—” And Teresa cringes when Brenda lets go of her, takes their contract—with Teresa’s looping signature next to her own—and rips it into pieces.

“You know what we can do, though,” Brenda says, looking back at her when the deed is done. “Is start over.”

“Start what over? Today?”

“Everything. Fuck high school.” She turns, squares her shoulders, and it looks like someone’s hit a reset button on the back of her neck. “Hi, I’m Brenda Reyes.”

She sticks out her hand.

And Teresa stares at it like it’s a spider before taking it, tentatively.

“Teresa Agnes.”

A firm handshake. “You’re looking really good tonight, Teresa Agnes.”

“And you’re looking hot as hell.”

Brenda smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

\--

\--

_[Thomas]: yo. howd it go_

_[Teresa]: hey asshole_

_[Thomas]: ?? hey_

_[Teresa]: your sisters in the shower_

_[Thomas]: excuse me_

_[Teresa]: you should teach her to be more careful with women shes just met_

_[Teresa]: instead of just going home with them_

_[Teresa]: and you know_

_[Teresa]: using their showers_

_[Thomas]: what_

_[Teresa]: also tell her to get a better password for her phone_

_[Teresa]: its the same number four times_

_[Thomas]: is this brenda_

_[Teresa]: FUCK okay i need a better password_

_[Teresa]: i wont be coming home tonight?? can you go over and feed the fish_

_[Thomas]: TERESA_

_[Thomas]: EXPLANATION_

_[Thomas]: NOW_

**Author's Note:**

> ridiculously unedited i don't know i finished this while i was supposed to be reading frankenstein so
> 
> i'm sorry I LOVE thomas/teresa banter whatever fight me; also lmao! What is characterization! It’s fine I guess!!! hahaa!!!! dashner didn't give me much to work with anyway it's fine
> 
> also: LOVE THEM GIRLS. LOVE ‘EM. Idk this is has been a stupid idea in my head for a while I hope they get married tbh
> 
> Also I’m sorry I wanted to expand this universe since I really love love love avant-garde artist!Brenda and I was planning to make law school graduate!Teresa but idk maybe someday, this got long but then I wish it could’ve been more, yknow
> 
> [also on tumblr ayy](http://amazerunners.tumblr.com/post/109993993110/raretmrships-week-late-day-2-a-ship)
> 
> Anyway
> 
>  
> 
> [HAPPY RARETMRSHIPS WEEK!!](http://raretmrshipsweek.tumblr.com/)


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